Think of Me
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: A shock-pairing oneshot, but with hints of Carson/Hughes too. Unlikely oneshot. THe end of a mismatched affair.


**Probably the oddest and most improbable oneshot ever. A reaction-fic to cookie-moi's Needing Somebody. **

They were lying in her bed, his bare chest pressed delicately against her back, his hand resting softly on her stomach, as she finally spoke the words she had so often thought of uttering. It was easier this way, looking away from him.

"Charles. I know it's not me you think of."

Her words needed little more context than the way his face rested in her tousled hair, than their breathing only returned relatively recently to a normal pattern. Having involuntarily rehearsed them many times in her head, she was able to speak them calmly, without much emotion. As for his reaction to them; he seemed to lie perfectly still, almost rigidly, for a few seconds; an air of having been caught out.

"How long have you known?" he asked softly. His voice sounded guilty, she did not have to see his face. She didn't really want to.

How long had she known? From the start, really. It had been a feeling she had had from the very beginning. They had each been unhappy before they started their affair, and he had not seemed very much happier when they did. That had been her first clue.

"For a while now," she conceded.

Catching the way he looked at the housekeeper was another. She had never really looked at Elsie Hughes and thought her beautiful before; that is until she saw the way Charles Carson looked at her- it was enough to make anyone look a bit more carefully. Charles Carson, her own lover.

"Isobel..." she heard him whisper, felt his head bow beside hers, perhaps in shame, felt his hand tighten a touch on her stomach.

"Shh," she told him softly, "I understand. It's alright."

It wasn't alright, not one bit of this was alright; but what she meant to say was that she was not angry with him, but those words somehow stuck in her throat.

Perhaps she'd even seen it before she'd allowed herself to fall into his arms, but it hadn't stopped her. They had both been so very alone: her with Matthew gone, him apparently perpetually lonely, unable to reach out to Elsie in the way that he wanted to. It had been impossible for her to compete with the housekeeper's thick, dark hair, or her elegant pale complexion, not because Mrs Hughes was particularly more beautiful than she was, but because they were all he wanted. She had learned not to think about that for the most part.

"I don't blame you," she told him.

They had decided that meeting at her house was most convenient, there was less chance of getting caught. Perhaps it was easier for him if they were further away from Elsie.

"Isobel," he repeated, a conscious strain in his voice now, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say to you."

She closed her eyes softly, smiled painfully and turned her head to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"You love her," she pointed out to him, "You don't have to say anything. There was never a chance for me, and I should have realised it sooner."

They lay there silently. He did not take his arms off her. Perhaps that was guilt too. She spoke again, though she thought she actually felt the words choke themselves in her throat this time.

"You don't have to stay with me, you know," she told him gently.

He still did not let her go. Though she knew he meant to be kind by it- of all the odd things he sometimes did, she had now reached the conclusion that he never meant to do harm- his continued presence made it all the more difficult. Lying here with him as if they were still lovers, when they never could be again felt wrong.

"Charles, please," her voice broke a little bit, "Just go if you're going to."

He was quiet, and he made no move to leave. She realised that her breathing had grown heavy and erratic with the effort of try to suppress the emotion she suddenly felt flooding her. While her first confession had been easy to make, finding herself nearly pleading with him had taken him by surprise. She stretched the her neck, tipping her head back a little, trying to bring herself back under control.

Feeling his lips on her collarbone, she gasped.

"I'm so sorry, Isobel," he spoke the words into her skin.

Her eyes fell closed.

"I'm sorry too."

His hand lifted almost cautiously from her stomach to cup her breast. She drew a ragged breath. Guiltily, she gave into the first impulse to grind her hips back against him.

They had their arrangement, and it was reasonably effective. She would comfort him, he would comfort her. That was what it came down to. Why should one thing spoken aloud make any difference, when it had been known by both of them for so long? It probably would, in the long run. But not now.

She felt his fingers on her, slicking over her, exciting her.

She moaned wantonly as she felt his hands take her hips, and he filled her from behind, kissing the top of her spine.

"Charles..."

I didn't matter who he thought of, or if they never did this again. She always thought of him.

**Please review if you have the time. And if you're not too furious with me.**


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